


Blowback

by CourierNinetyTwo



Category: Overwatch (Video Game)
Genre: F/F, Gunplay
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-08-13
Updated: 2016-08-13
Packaged: 2018-08-08 11:53:56
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,426
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7756888
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/CourierNinetyTwo/pseuds/CourierNinetyTwo
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Adrenaline always runs high after a resurrection.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Blowback

**Author's Note:**

> I keep seeing NSFW Overwatch art at one in the morning and deciding to write stuff inspired off it.

It had been a close fight. Too close.

Talon had laid down so much suppressive fire that Pharah could barely get airborne in the first place, dodging enemy rockets and stray bullets before a sniper shot cut her clean from the sky. Every Raptora system was on red alert, warning that her ballistic plating had just been shattered, but the spread of warmth beneath her suit was proof enough of that, too thick to be sweat. When the adrenaline faded, she was in trouble.

Landing behind a bombed-out building, Pharah crumpled to her knees, taking deep breaths in and out while running through her options. The fight was still raging on, but the bullet had pierced her straight through, if the dull but growing ache in her back was any indication. Tapping the battered communicator on the side of her helmet, Pharah called for the only person who could possibly help.

When Mercy arrived minutes later, her patient was no longer breathing, but a hand against Pharah’s cheek held a latent warmth, enough to go by.

–

Pharah snapped awake, gasping as breath returned to her lungs, the instinct of inhale and exhale bypassing all higher thought. _Alive._ She was alive.

It took a moment for her vision to recenter itself through the cracked visor of the helmet, but the Raptora’s internal power was still functioning at half capacity: enough to fire and fly, if not both at the same time.

“Fareeha?” Mercy’s soft voice returned her to the reality of flesh and blood, catching explosions still carrying on in the distance now that she wasn’t dealing with a perpetually ringing skull.

“How many are left?” Pharah asked, bracing herself against the wall and getting to both feet. Everything seemed to be working fine, even if her body had just been given a hard reset.

The wings on Mercy’s back fluttered with the question; a sign of tension, one that was broadcasted thanks to the Valkyrie tracking her nervous system response. “Ten or so, I believe. Talon holed themselves up in a sniper nest when I arrived with backup.”

“Good.” The word came out as a decisive growl as Pharah steeled herself, ready to launch into the air. “I wasn’t given the chance to fire back.”

Before Mercy could counsel her to caution, Pharah shot up into the sky, immediately catching the glint of a rifle’s scope on the edge of her view. When she reached her peak, high enough to grab the attention of every Talon soldier underneath her, Pharah fired her full barrage of rockets, dozens funneled into the tightly confined space. The first explosions sent them running, but by the time Pharah’s war cry had been burned from their throat, not a single one was left standing, and the battlefield fell quiet.

That peace ended in seconds when her Raptora suit blared a warning, its projected screen flickering as it drew on waning reserves of energy to power the thrusters. She needed to land, and fast.

Pharah made a tight turn before diving towards the building that had sheltered her, using the last burst from the jets to catch her fall, drifting down a matter of inches before her boots met broken earth and asphalt. Mercy was nowhere to be seen until she took a step forward, the doctor appearing with her pistol drawn and ready to defend herself.

The second their eyes met, she lowered the weapon, and Pharah felt a smile tugging hard at her lips. “Were you going to protect me with that, or should I be worried?”

“What else would I do with it?” Mercy said, tone flippant but not quite disguising her relief.

“That depends.” A fresh burst of adrenaline was still blazing through Pharah’s body, coaxed out by swift retaliation against their enemy. “In my experience, you can be rather creative, Doctor.”

The use of her title was enough to put a particular glint in Mercy’s eyes, one Pharah knew well enough to exploit. She reached up to press the latch binding her helmet to the rest of the suit, dismissing a few sweat-damp strands of hair out of the way with a firm shake of her head. The resurrection process could only cure and not cleanse; Pharah knew there was still blood staining her lips, the scent of iron and salt heavy in the air, but she also knew Mercy’s heart beat that much harder for it.

It had to be a strange thing, wielding life and death like a god without asking anything in exchange, but in the right moments – here, like this, alone after battle where no one knew where to find them – Pharah had found that Mercy would accept a certain kind of worship.

She moved slow, each step breaking the distance between them until her shadow fell across Mercy’s frame, cast that much darker in the latent glow of the Valkyrie’s wings. It wasn’t until then, towering over the other woman, that Pharah made fit to drop to her knees, both supplicant and warrior as she looked up and let a welcoming smile rise to her lips, eyes half-lidded and nearly black with desire.

“You had me worried for a moment, Fareeha.” Mercy whispered, voice taking on a breathy edge as gloved fingers tightened around the grip of her pistol. “I’m supposed to catch you when you fall.”

“You did.” She replied, holding Mercy’s bright blue gaze and watching a faint pink flush spread across pale cheeks. “Allah wasn’t even given a moment to judge me.”

“I think I’m the one who deserves judgment here.” A huff of laughter escaped Mercy’s throat as the very edge of her blaster’s barrel skirted over Pharah’s cheek, cool to the touch against overheated skin.

Pharah’s only reply was a faint hum, biting back every remark about power trips and god complexes that came to mind. When smooth metal brushed her lips, she let them part against the pressure, the bottom of the pistol’s receiver just touching against Pharah’s teeth before the first inch slid in. It was thick between her jaws but narrow between her cheeks, giving enough space to swallow past rounded edges, tongue catching on the silver rod making up the lower half of the frame.

Mercy’s next breath was staggered, desire and raw affection dueling in her eyes when Pharah sucked hard around the barrel, enough to feel strain in her jaw as Mercy’s fingers clutched the trigger guard even harder. Life and death held between a few square inches, and the friction of that liminal space was enough to leave the doctor aglow, eager to test the boundaries of what was being given.

Her thumb flicked the manual recharge switch on the side of the blaster, watching as the slide rose and pressed hard against the roof of Pharah’s mouth, forcing it open and wide as light spun inside its core, ramping up a shot that would never be fire. A frisson of heat flared across Pharah’s tongue, the inside of her cheeks, and she let out a groan as her teeth pressed down against steel sights, held tightly in place until she felt her eyes begin to water from the strain.

With a careful bob of her head, Pharah eased the rest of the slide in, feeling it bump against the back of her throat, and Mercy twisted the pistol just so, enough for her to gulp past it, stealing breaths between a slow and deliberate rhythm. It was hypnotizing in a way, holding that bright and longing gaze on the precipice of danger, locked behind the safety that was less than an inch from her lips.  

After a moment of watching, indulging in the image that sent every bit of logic spiraling out of Mercy’s head, she gave a gentle tug, as subtle as possible, and the barrel was released from Pharah’s mouth with an audible pop, clear strands of saliva sticking slick against otherwise pristine metal and down the bronze line of her chin. The knowing hunger in the soldier’s eyes was as much promise as warning, and Mercy felt an anticipatory shiver work its way up her spine.

“Now what do you say, Doctor?” A faint rasp caught on the edge of the words from a dry throat that was suddenly drenched by the need to swallow. “I think I’d like to have you all to myself tonight.”

“I’d never deny you that, Fareeha.” She knew what that look meant, what kind of worship would be demanded in exchange. “All you have to do is fly me home.”

–


End file.
